


The Pursuit of Bravado

by NovaScriven



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fashion & Models, Blogger Arthur, Inception AU, M/M, Photographer Eames, Social Influencers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-02
Updated: 2016-11-24
Packaged: 2018-08-12 16:34:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7941499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NovaScriven/pseuds/NovaScriven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eames knows - and has known for some time now - that all good art is theft. In that regard, he is a very good thief; the best in fact. And it's providence made manifest because it makes him one of the most sought-after contemporary photographers and casts him right into the path of Arthur, who also happens to be the best. Chaos ensues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Inception fic in any 'verse. I am also not a fashion student, a photography student, or a blogger. So I am holistically clueless as I go about this work in progress. Your feedback would be much appreciated :)

Arthur makes his way to his seat in the front row. There is a taste in his mouth that he can’t seem to get rid of. But it’s a familiar one. He knows it as being anxiousness. It's the season showing of Ariadne, a designer who has been earmarked for greatness by anybody in the business who's worth taking note of. "...Quite possibly the greatest designer of our time..." Vogue had reported. All this since her first big collection in Fall '09. But Arthur has been to all three of her releases since then and all of them were uncomfortable for him to see. 

They were not disastrous by any means but they fell just short of the prestige of her first collection - each one more so than the next - so much so that now, he is anxious for her. But not because of the possibility that the line would fail or receive scathing critique. That would not happen. Nobody would ever make mention of the fact that her work was slowly taking on the distinct hue of mediocrity. After all, Malorie Cobb had taken her on as a prodigy which made her as good as untouchable. Arthur is horrified to find himself among those bound to silence.

If it had been any other designer, he would have had an easy time of it. Within 72 hours, a post weighing up the strengths and shortfalls of the collection would be found under the "Runway Reviews" section of his blog. It would be heavier on the side of the latter, but not heavier or more scathing than was objectively necessary. People would read it and take what he had to say to heart because people tend to take note of what he has to say. But this was Ariadne. She was the only person who understood what it was like to be a prodigy of the Cobbs and that, for all intents and purposes, meant that she was the closest thing to a sister that Arthur had.

Carefully, he slides his access pass into his blazer pocket and settles into his seat. He knows he should be on his feet and networking. But the worry thrumming through his mind is distracting and threatening to develop into a headache soon. So, he crosses his ankles a way in front of him to get his circulation going and wills his mind clear. The process is interrupted by somebody drawling in his direction but he notices a bit too late to register what they’ve said. He swings his vision to the left and as the figure comes into focus says, "Excuse me?"

"I said I don't believe we've been formally introduced. Eames," says the man. A broad, easy smile on a broad shouldered man, who is holding a hand out to Arthur.

"Of course. Arthur" - and Arthur shakes.

What Arthur had meant was that 'of course'. Of course he knew who Eames was. Even if Arthur didn't make it his business to know the names and faces of almost every influencer operating out of the major fashion cities, of course, he would still recognise the most prolific and versatile photographer of the modern age. _Of course_ , he knows who Eames is. 

But he doesn't say that. Instead, he follows up with a small nod and a, "pleasure." And something about the ease of Eames' grin makes him feel in competition with him somehow - a challenge. So he follows that up with a smile dialed up to full wattage, dimples on display. Which catches Eames' eye. In the space of a split-second Eames' gaze strays to them before darting back to meet Arthur's once again - almost imperceptible. Arthur clocks it - smiles brighter just for good measure. Eames doesn't miss a beat. He lets go of Arthur's hand in favour of running it through his own hair and huffs out something between a laugh and a measure of self-deprecation. "Sorry. Photographer's eye." Arthur doesn't get a chance to respond because then the warm house lights start to dim and the runway's lighting is faded in. Its sudden, lurid glow cast on the front row is a sharp reminder: he is here to be nervous for Ariadne.

************

Arthur has had his notebook and pen out on his lap to take notes as he does at every collection showing he goes to - but he doesn't write anything. From start to finish the whole thing is turbulent for him to watch and he focuses on maintaining a level-head through the three varying degrees of quality of design that he is presented with. The first fifteen or so designs are fine. It’s nothing groundbreaking but at a push, he would describe them as good. Good in the sense that they're vaguely reminiscent of that first line. He knows that it won't last, though. She wouldn't have done an entire line in that way. So when number sixteen struts on, mediocre almost to the point of being uninspired, he's not surprised. He spends the entire time trying to commit as many details as he can to long term memory while simultaneously trying to map a trend throughout. However, it’s proving to be difficult to do. All the designs feel off-balance. Almost as though she’d designed them while in some sort of dream state that didn’t obey any of the real world's rules of physics, nature, or design. He feels a weight on his left shift closer to him and Eames whispers in low tones, "While I admit I find you strapping to look at in any state of being, I can assure you those cameras downwind aways are considerably less forgiving. Especially when it comes to frowning, you see."

Arthur doesn't need to look in the direction Eames has subtly gestured to. He knows, of course, that there are cameras there in the press seating block. More specifically, he know that the ones hungry for gossip would not have their lenses trained on the collection, but on him and the rest of the front row. He makes a concerted effort to level his eyebrows and turn the corners of his mouth up, nodding in acknowledgment in Eames' direction. Seemingly satisfied, Eames re-aligns to his original position in his seat and Arthur reclines against the back of his. 

The designs keep coming. And they don't get better. At least, not until the last 10. These ones are a clear deviation from her usual style - he notes. Crisper, cleaner lines and nuanced details on the garments as opposed to the almost obscene details on the earlier few. But her signature is still there. In the fanciful pairing of materials that really shouldn't work - but did. He knows it is a hit with the crowd too. He feels their energy abruptly shift to almost effervescence and it all culminates when Ari herself makes her way down the runway and the house - as one - gets to its feet. When she blows him a kiss from the runway, he extends his arms so that his clapping takes place closer to her. A gesture of applause - approval. At once, he notes both the relieved look in her eyes as she receives it and his own relief: that taste is no longer lingering in his mouth.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry about going ghost on this fic! I hit my semester finals and ... well, you know how exams are. I'm excited to see where these characters intend to take me seeing as I myself have no clue at the moment. I'm thinking it's going to be an excruciatingly slow burn. Leave me some thoughts in the comments :) Happy holidays xx

In theory, the idea of Arthur and Ariadne joining the Cobbs at Mallorie's parents house in Toullouse is delightful. What it translates to in real life is that actually getting everyone to sit down at the table is a trial to say the least. Marie Cobb, in all her redoubtable glory has bought an honest-to-god bell for the specific purpose of calling everyone to the table. 

"Why did she have to get the one with the most annoying frequency to ever exist, ever?" groans Ariadne.

"I think that's the point of it, actually," Arthur huffs, taking the seat next to her.

Soon, Dom surfaces from the study downstairs and assumes his place opposite Arthur. He is wearing an intense frown, as if scrunching his face up would do any good to protect him from the onslaught of the shrieking bell. Mal barrels down the staircase muttering darkly under her breath. By the looks of the pillow marks across her cheek and the way her dark curls are flattened against her head at the back, she had been disturbed from a nap. It had taken all of 60 seconds to get them all seated where it would usually have taken 15 minutes. At last, Marie stops ringing the bell from the adjoining kitchen and enters the room with Phillippa on one hip.

She stands at the head of the table, beaming over her achievement. 

*******

It takes a while for Mal to thaw out of the grumpiness of being disturbed from her nap but Philippa insists on being seated next to Mal in her feeding chair which helps move the process along, and really, it turns out alright.

They talk about the property in Tribeca Dom & Mal are considering buying - schools in the area, infrastructure, safety. Dom and Arthur geek out about a new series they've watched called Stranger Things while the women roll their eyes. Arthur spends a few minutes in stitches while Ariadne tries to explain to and then teach Marie about dabbing. (She doesn't quite hack it but she comes alarmingly close). There's some fuss about who Ariadne is seeing or isn't seeing. Arthur saves her by mentioning that his family sends their regards. Miles is attending a conference to in Lisbon, so Marie is free to slander him in his absence. Then she and Mal take turns having a go at the men in their lives in that fond way that only couples who've worn marriage for years can do. 

Cobb absent-mindedly mentions an ad campaign he thinks Arthur should consider auditioning for and Marie clicks her tongue in reproach. By decree of Marie Miles, no business is allowed to be mentioned at the table unless it's to commemorate milestones or acheivements. So they toast Ariadne's line first and foremost, then they toast Dom and Mal landing a big money advertiser for Totem, they toast Arthur still turning record numbers on his site, and they toast Philippa's latest tooth. 

*******

"My question," Ariadne says grabbing her phone from next to her on the couch ", is why absolutely nobody gives a fuck about Barb?"

Arthur laughs. He'd found Ariadne in the kitchen downstairs at 2am and convinced her that the most productive way for them to use the time-difference induced insomnia would be to watch Stranger Things. It had been embarrassingly easy actually. All he had to do was imply that she wouldn't be able to make it through without falling asleep. 

So here they were, ensconced in fluffy blankets on Marie's couch in the early hours of the morning discussing pop culture references and camera angles. And in the low light, hushed tones of their easy conversation over the stillness of a city still asleep it would be easy for him to forget that he has something important to discuss with her. He knows he needs to voice his concerns at some stage. Because somebody has to. Because nobody else will have the balls to. And even if they did, he wants it to come from him anyway. Because he loves her and she knows his input is honest and harbours no hidden agendas. He wonders briefly, if he should wait until they find themselves in any setting even marginally more professional than this one and then chides himself. After all, this is Ari. And they are hardly the people they were two years ago.

"Ari, I need to talk to you about something," he begins

He waits for her to look up from scrolling through her Instagram feed before he takes a deep breath and, "It's about your collection."


End file.
